I Know What Hand Holding Means
by jerkharkness
Summary: Sherlock knows more about certain romantic gestures than John thinks. When John and Sherlock walk down to the grocer's, Sherlock takes it upon himself to explain to John, in his own way, how he feels. After a lonely walk in the rain for both men, all their mutual feelings come out. Johnlock, fluffy, angsty. Rated T. I own nothing.


A/N: My first fic. Please tell me what you think!

"Jesus, Sherlock," John muttered as he opened the fridge and spotted a jar of pickled eyeballs. No response came from the detective, who had been staring into a microscope for close to five hours. Although it was normal for his flatmate to be silent while doing an experiment or during a case, John sometimes wished Sherlock would communicate more. He was, after all, the detective's only friend.

John closed the fridge, frustrated (they were out of milk again).

"Sherlock," he started. "I'll just be going to the grocer's for some milk. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Hold on, I'll come with you," Sherlock replied, surprising his flatmate. John didn't expect him to even respond, let alone suggest tagging along.

"Uh, alright, then," the doctor said, taken aback. He tried his best to hide his confusion as he watched Sherlock stand up from his chair and stretch his muscles, making him look taller and slimmer than he already was.

"Let me just get my coat," the detective said plainly to John, who was staring at him. Seeing his surprised and confused expression, he added, "Is there a problem?"

"Wha- uh… No. Just, why are you all of a sudden up for going out in the middle of an experiment? It's not a big deal, it just surprised me, that's all."

"I thought it might be a good idea to get some fresh air. I haven't left the flat in ages." Sherlock was actually glad to be going out. Spending time with John wasn't terrible- in fact, he quite liked it. He liked the feeling of having someone to talk to who didn't annoy him (much) and was not as stupid as everyone else. Sherlock felt like he could connect to John more than he could with others. He might have even had feelings for the army doctor, but he wasn't sure. He didn't have much experience in that area. Of course he would never tell John any of those things.

John also liked spending time with Sherlock. He didn't understand why everyone seemed to dislike him so much; he was brilliant. Maybe it was because he deduced everything about a person, right down to how many times they used the bathroom the day before. Or perhaps it was his brutal honesty, or maybe his attitude. But these were the things John admired most about the detective. The things that made him realize how much he loved him. He'd known for a while, but it wasn't until recently that he finally accepted the fact that he was in love with Sherlock Holmes. Of course, John would never tell him any of those things.

The men marched out of their flat and made their way outside. It was cloudy and the darkening sky made it look like it would rain soon.

"We'd better be quick," John started. "It looks like it could storm soon and we don't want to be caught in the rain." John went to the edge of the street to hail a cab that was passing by, but Sherlock stopped him by grabbing his wrist, making the doctor blush heavily. Sherlock waved the cab off, signaling for it to keep driving. Turning toward John and awkwardly noticing the red tint on the doctor's face. "It doesn't matter," Sherlock started awkwardly. "We should walk instead. Like I said, I haven't been out in days."

Normally, John would protest, but for some unknown reason, he found himself happily agreeing with the detective. In all honesty, it wouldn't be too bad to spend a little time with Sherlock.

As they walked, John was still slightly embarrassed from having his wrist held by Sherlock. He'd hoped the detective hadn't observed the deep shade of red that had tinted John's face. Although, he most likely did, seeing as he noticed everything. That thought made John even more embarrassed and he felt his face heat up yet again. Deciding to break the awkward silence among them, John asked, "So, what experiment were you working on?"

"I was looking at a dead bug that I found underneath the table. I was unbelievably bored."

With a small chuckle, John said, "So there wasn't even a good reason why you were silently looking into your microscope for the whole day? Why didn't you watch some telly? I think X Factor was on at the time. I know how much you love that show."

"John, you know very well that I want nothing to do with that monstrosity of a program," Sherlock replied, with a small hint of humor to his voice.

"I know _I_ would much rather look at a dead bug under a microscope." John added sarcastically. "That sounds like _so_ much fun."

"Hey, I was bored," Sherlock said defensively, nudging the doctor's arm lightly, accidentally making their hands brush together. Both men blushed profusely. Jokingly, John said, "You know, if you wanted to hold my hand, you could've asked." A small chuckle came from the detective as he thought about actually holding John's hand. Instead, he decided to play along.

"And why would I want to do that?"

John knew Sherlock had very little, maybe even no romantic experience. But exactly how much he actually knew about romance and things of the sort was a mystery. "I was only joking, Sherlock," he said without wanting to press the matter.

"I know, but you said if I wanted to hold your hand, I should ask. Why do people hold each other's hands? I never really understood the gesture."

_"Did he really not know?"_ John thought to himself. "Well, usually when two people like each other, they hold hands," John explained, as if he were talking to a child. "That's why I made that joke when our hands brushed together accidentally. But it doesn't matter." He paused. "You really don't know what holding someone's hand means?"

"I didn't, but I do now, John. Thank you for explaining it to me," the detective replied, indicating that he was done talking about the subject.

"No problem," the doctor said quietly, sensing that Sherlock might have been uncomfortable talking about it. Did he really not know?

Sherlock had made up his mind. He was no longer 'married to his work.' John made Sherlock happy by just talking and joking around with him. No one else had ever been able to do that, which was why, right then and there, Sherlock decided that he was in love with John Watson.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes. John's predictions were right; it had begun to rain lightly just as they walked up to the grocer's door. The small shop was not very busy at all, only a few customers were in sight, along with a few employees here and there. John led the way towards the milk aisle, picking up a few other things on the way (bread, napkins, and eggs). As John's hands were full of the items, he instructed Sherlock to retrieve the milk from the refrigerator and they made their way to the front of the store to purchase their things.

The cashier was a very pretty woman. John was making light conversation with her, possibly getting around to asking her out, and, Sherlock noticed, the woman was interested in John as well (dilated pupils, twirling of hair, feet shuffling slightly). She proceeded to check out their items slowly, ensuring the maximum amount of time to flirt with John. As she put the last of the items into a bag, John handed the woman his credit card.

As she swiped the card in the small computer, Sherlock looked at John, took a deep breath and quickly took his hand. John didn't know how to react, and he turned a deep shade of crimson.

"Sherlock? What on earth…?" the doctor inquired nervously. Why was the detective acting so strangely tonight?

"Well, we like each other, don't we," Sherlock said innocently, giving off the impression that he didn't know what he was doing.

"I think you misunderstood me. When I said 'like each other,' I meant 'like each other as romantic partners.'"

The cashier looked at the two men holding hands, listening to what they were saying. She took a pen and crossed out what looked like her phone number, which she had previously written on the back of their receipt.

"This isn't actually what… We're not- I'm not gay!" John said, dropping Sherlock's hand unceremoniously.

The cashier gave John and Sherlock their bags and handed John hid card and receipt. "Have a good day," she said. "Next in line, please."

John walked out of the store and into the rain, frustrated at Sherlock and equally frustrated at himself. The man he was in love with just tried to hold his hand and the doctor pushed him away just because he wanted to deny his feelings toward him. But then again, why would Sherlock hold his hand in the middle of checking out at the grocer's while John was trying to flirt with someone? By all accounts it didn't make sense, and John was confused and angry.

He felt bad for not explaining to the detective what happened, so he turned around to wait for him to catch up. John walked slowly back toward the tall man, who looked embarrassed and didn't make eye contact with the doctor. When Sherlock caught up with John, they said nothing to each other for quite some time. They walked next to each other, each carrying a bag of groceries and thinking about what happened. Sherlock was the first to break the silence.

"I'm sorry, John," he stated simply. "I shouldn't have-"

"You don't have to apologize, Sherlock. You didn't know any better. I'm not mad at you.

Sherlock stopped walking and grabbed John by the shoulder, making the two men face each other. "What do you mean I didn't know any better? Do you actually think I don't know what hand holding symbolizes? You think I wanted to watch you flirt with some woman you'd just met? You think I only came with you today because I needed to get out of the house? Well none of those things are true! I shouldn't have held your hand. I don't know what I was thinking in there. Can we stop talking about it now?"

John didn't know what to say. He stood still as Sherlock was the one to walk ahead this time. He stared at his slender figure as he walked away, leaving John in the rain. The doctor decided that he would take his time walking home. He didn't have any plans for tonight, anyway. Sherlock was already very far away from him, but he saw him stop and turn around in the distance, possibly debating whether or not to wait for John to catch up. He obviously decided not to, because he turned and swiftly started walking again.

John started walking, letting the rain soak through his clothes. He felt terrible for assuming Sherlock knew nothing about relationships. John would have hailed a cab, but he didn't feel like doing anything but walking in the rain. The weather seemed to completely sum up the mood John was in: alone and depressed.

Slowly, John made his way home and walked into his flat. The door was unlocked, meaning Sherlock was home already. He stepped inside, peeling off his soaking wet coat and hanging it on the rack. He made his way up to his room to put on some dry clothes.

"Sherlock," John said. "I'm back."

"I know, you walked right past me," a deep voice replied form the living room. John must have not seen him because he was lying down on the couch. John walked back into the living room and saw the detective on the couch, still in his wet clothes.

"How long have you been home," John asked.

"About ten minutes."

"You should change out of those clothes or else you'll get sick, Sherlock." The detective shrugged and continued staring at the ceiling. "Go on, I don't want you to catch the flu."

Sherlock got up from his spot of the couch and made his way into his room. John walked up to his own room and chose some dry pajamas to wear. He took off his wet clothes, replacing them with a pair of striped pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He made his way back into the living room, sitting down on the couch. John wondered if he should talk to Sherlock about what happened earlier. He was scared of what Sherlock might think if he told him how he felt about the situation, so he decided not to talk about it unless Sherlock brought it up.

A few minutes later, Sherlock walked back into the living room, wearing pajamas as well. He looked at John and tried to speak, but no sound came out.

"What is it, Sherlock," John asked softly, motioning for Sherlock to sit next to him on the couch.

"John, I'm- I didn't mean to yell at you like I did before," Sherlock said as he sat down. "I shouldn't have even gone with you today. If I didn't, this would have never happened."

"You had every right to come with me. I should have been easier on you afterwards."

"John"

"Yes"

"I wanted to tell you… that I..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," John said.

"John"

"Yes, Sherlock"

"John, I know what holding someone's hand means. I may not be very experienced in this area, but what happened in the grocer's was my way of telling you… My way of saying how I felt."

"And… How is that?" John asked timidly.

"I don't know, exactly. All I know is that you are the only person in the world who I enjoy being around… This is a new feeling for me and I'm taking a large risk by telling you, but…" Sherlock took the doctor's hand in his own. "I think I'm in love with you, John."

John was overjoyed at this news. A genuine smile stretched across his face. "Really?" he asked, not completely believing what he was hearing.

"Yes, really," Sherlock said. He sounded nervous as he waited for John's response.

"I love you, too, Sherlock."

For a long time, they just sat there next to one another, hand in hand. Suddenly, they were both leaning towards each other and before they knew it, their lips were touching. The kiss was soft and fragile and perfect. Sherlock put his hand on John's cheek and brought him closer, deepening the kiss. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls and kissed him back passionately.

After a few more minutes, the kissing started to die down a bit. They were cuddled on the couch next to each other underneath a blanket, with Sherlock's head resting on John's shoulder. Both men were happier than they had ever been. They were with the person they loved the most, and all of the feelings that they shared were out in the open. Neither one of them could believe that just a few hours ago, they were only flatmates.

FIN


End file.
